


Keeping Count

by pinkyams



Category: SAKANA (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Yuudai Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 16:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20246080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkyams/pseuds/pinkyams
Summary: Very few people have had the special opportunity of kissing Yuudai Tanaka. It took five times to get it right.5 times Yuudai was kissed, and the 1 time it counted





	Keeping Count

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fanfic in over two years I'd say and I took a lot of creative liberty but I hope the characters are true to their nature. When I read SAKANA I immediately fell in love with the story, but more importantly, all the characters. In a way, this is a love letter to SAKANA.  
Thank you to Madeline Rupert for such a wonderful webcomic.
> 
> Happy reading!

_ 1\. _

Group projects were the equivalent of scraping your teeth against cutlery. If Yuudai was forced to choose, he’d bid a quick goodbye to his sanity before grabbing a ceramic plate to drag his teeth painfully along it. Anything to get out of the torture that was collaborating on a topic no one cared about for a grade.

When you’re thirteen and your body has taken a new habit of breaking out into random bouts of nervous sweat, nothing is less than appealing than sitting down with someone going through the same exact thing to do work. All while navigating through a stilted conversation about said work you’re eventually going to hand in. The only silver lining of all of this is that the teacher only allowed assigned pairs, so it wouldn’t be as agonizing as trying to placate with five other assholes.

Well, there is another upside to this, but when has Yuudai ever been that honest?

Whatever Gods out there must have given him some slack, because his assigned partner was Sora of all people.

Yuudai liked Sora because unlike all the other shitheads, all going through the eight layers of hell that is puberty, Sora didn’t feel the need to call middle school a hellscape and stoop down to low levels.

That’s what Yuudai hates so much about middle school. The classrooms are stifling with the thick scent of puberty and trying too hard to act like you’ve got it all together when, who, realistically at the age of thirteen has any of their shit together? Yuudai may not be in touch with honesty, but he doesn’t like to act smarter or cooler than he is, because it’ll be a waste of everyone’s time. Sora never tried to appeal to anyone, she acted like a human being rather than a regurgitated idea of what it means to fit in.

She was that girl; The girl who quietly sat in her own space, floating through the crowds, but everyone would still acknowledge her existence with smiles and open arms. 

And she was pretty. That much Yuudai can see.

But it isn’t the way she smiles pleasantly, lips painted in a sticky gloss, or hair fluffed out with neat bangs framing her face that makes Yuudai like her. Although, at times he does envy how soft her hair looks and how it never seems to get in her eyes unlike his.

No, instead it’s the way she always manages to include Yuudai in some way or another. Whether it's giving him a pencil when he doesn’t have one or offering to share her notes when he misses a day of class. Sometimes even when he hadn’t.

Maybe working with her won’t be the worst thing ever.

So that’s how Yuudai finds himself in an empty classroom with her, during lunch as they try to figure out whatever the fuck they’re supposed to be doing. Something to do with literature and a book that drags way too long for Yuudai’s taste.

“What do the lily pads in the river represent?” Sora asks, thumbing carefully across the pages of her book as to not dog-ear it, unlike Yuudai’s, already bent at the sides and falling apart.

“They’re lily pads in a river,” Yuudai grumbles, “They’re for the frogs.”

She huffs humoredly, shaking her head as she finds another page, “Ah yes, the lily pads are clearly a metaphor for all the nonexistent frogs.”

Yuudai pushes the hair out of his eyes that keep obscuring his vision as he writes down pointless notes, surrounding shitty doodles of lily pads with sharp question marks and a capitalized “What does it all mean???”

“How about the river?” Sora asks, turning her book towards him and Yuudai cranes his neck, trying to look at what she’s pointing at.

“What about the river?”

“Lily pads don’t usually grow in rivers. They prefer ponds and lakes, so maybe it means something?” She says, and Yuudai squints, not sure if it’s too mean to say ‘Girl...’

“I guess?” He ends up saying, writing that down in his notebook and huffing as he pushes the bangs off his face again.

“Ugh,” she pushes the book away and leans back into her chair, “This is so stupid. I feel like I’ve been thinking about lily pads too much to be normal. Am I gonna die thinking about lily pads? Is this what I’m worth? Writing symbolism about lily pads?”

“Stop saying lily pads.”

“Lily pads.”

Yuudai sighs, as Sora laughs, tinged with the agony that is schoolwork and thinking too hard. She slumps on her desk burying the side of her head into her arms, as she looks up at him with a mopey expression. He gives her a flat look.

“I’ll make sure to put ‘rivers, question mark, question mark, question mark’ in the margin,” He says, writing exactly that and making Sora smile in the process. While he’s writing, his hair continues to bother him, unwilling to stay out his eyes for two freaking seconds. He pushes it away, knowing it’s a motion he’s gonna repeat several more times.

“That’s the third time you’ve done that,” Sora says suddenly and immediately the insecurity prickles in unwarranted. She had been watching him do that. Without saying anything, Yuudai shrugs trying to ignore her statement.

“Is your hair bothering you?” She pushes.

“It’s nothing.”

“It is.”

“It’s just hair,” he tries to brush off but now she’s sitting up, frowning at him. Bottom lip sticking out.

Without another word, she takes her bag that was settled underneath the desk and begins rummaging through it. “It’s not just hair,” she goes on, “I know how annoying that shit can be— hold on I know they’re here somewhere— just give me a second.” She sticks her tongue out, really digging her hands deep into the bottom of her bag before she makes an “Aha!” noise and pulling out…

Hair clips?

Obnoxious ones at that.

“I carry these around all the time, just in case,” she holds them out to him and he’s unsure of what to say, “Sorry, I only got pink and green.”

Yuudai flattens his mouth to a straight line, “With… Cats?”

Sora’s expression turns nervous, “Yeeeah… Sorry about that.”

The big cat heads at the end of the clips should make Yuudai cringe, but instead, he tilts his head a bit before taking them. He fiddles with them for a second, there’s glittered tacked onto the clips and looking closely, the cat heads are designed with whiskers and everything. How cute. Especially the green one.

“You don’t have to… If you don’t want to,” Sora says which brings Yuudai back into reality. She looks awkward and regretting even pulling out the clips in the first place which makes Yuudai tense.

“No! No I… Want them?” Yuudai frowns, “I mean I just… How do you put these on?”

Sora blinks dumbly, before snorting, really loud this time and it makes her slap a hand over her mouth, “Sorry! Oh god, that was ugly— Ha— Of course you wouldn’t know how to… Ugh, just give them to me.” She makes a grabby hand motion to the clips which Yuudai obliges. 

“Can I touch your face?” She asks, but she’s already moving towards him so he just nods quickly before she takes a large chunk of his hair and slides it off his forehead.

He does his best not to flinch, glancing down as she maneuvers more of his hair to the side before inserting the pink clip. When she goes to move away, Yuudai panics and shouts, “What about the green one?!”

“I’m— I’m doing that right now! Don’t rush me,” she teases and he feels bright red with embarrassment, still refusing to look at her.

Distantly, he wonders how many of the boys in their class could say Sora had sat this close? Touched their faces like it was something delicate? That would put Yuudai up a few notches in the popularity contest everyone is secretly having, right? But as she slides in the green clip alongside its neighbor, Yuudai realizes that this moment is for them and them only. 

Is this what friendship feels like?

He instinctively touches the clips, surprised by how comfortable and solid they feel, and more importantly, his eyes don’t feel assaulted by the yellow spikes. He finally glances up at her and her expression seems frozen, lips open as if she was about to say something but the words have been stolen at the very last second.

Yuudai squirms, tugging at his sleeves and eyes leaving her again, “What do I look that ba—?”

It’s only a second, and at first, Yuudai thinks she’s zooming in to punch him, poke his eye, or even ready to yank the accessories out his hair, but what she actually does throws him for the biggest fucking loop.

Sora kisses him.

His brain stops working.

He doesn’t even get the chance to start it back up before she slams herself back into her chair, nearly knocking herself backward and covering her mouth. Her eyes are bugged out of her head as she sputters dumbly, and she screams “I’m sorry!” Before kicking herself up, grabbing her bag, and stumbling the entire way out the door. 

She shuts the door behind her with a resounding slam.

And Yuudai.

Yuudai _ shrieks _.

In an instant he’s rubbing his mouth, scraping at it because gross! Gross! Gross! Oh my god! He wants to die, he wants a black hole to swallow him whole so he never has to relive that ever again!

Manga lied to him!

Romantic comedies are a farce!

There is _nothing_ more disgusting than being kissed by a girl!

Yuudai feels betrayed by all the media that’s ever tricked him into thinking kissing was this firework moment with all the gooey emotions that come after it. And it isn’t until years later, where his dumbass gets his head back on his shoulders and realizes that, no stupidhead, you just never wanted a _ girl _to do that. 

He does feel bad though.

Thirteen year old Yuudai ended up finishing the project with her on another day. They got an above-average grade and never spoke about _ it _ever again. Sora could never look him in the eyes for too long but good because Yuudai definitely could never. That isn’t to say they were on bad terms either, they still cleaned up the classroom together whenever they were assigned to, she kept giving him pencils when he didn’t have any, and she would always say “hi!” when he sat down next to her.

He did try to give her the clips back at some point but she refused them. They’re kept in a small box that he never throws out.

Yuudai thought for sure everyone would know about their little mishap and he’d be the laughing stock of the century. But that never seemed to be the case. As they move on to high school, she’s the only one that asked to write in his yearbook

She writes this:

_“Thank you for always being you! I’m gonna miss you a lot <3 You’re gonna do great things, I know it!_

_ P.S, I’m sorry” _

And a tiny doodle of a googly-eyed cat.

_2\. _

His body has a habit of giving out at the end of the day, slumping forward on his bed with his uniform still on his back.

School is arduous with its bloodsucking greedy demands. Yuudai knows life consists of working till your bones turn brittle and the skin on your hand’s flake and crust off. But he’d rather do that dirty work and get paid while doing it. His mind is in a deteriorating state of useless, and his mother, who he loves more than the world can contain, deserves a helping hand.

If he can take the work off her back, he wouldn’t hesitate to carry it up a mountain if it meant she could rest.

But school takes front and center. Yuudai is in the middle of math class, as he answers all the questions in quick succession, he can’t help but think how this time could be used searching for a job. Somewhere out in the city, far from his mother, but it is a small price to pay if it meant that he could chip in.

There’s not much here for him anyways. 

Friends don’t come easy. He thinks of Sora, a girl that now feels lightyears away in a world that Yuudai can never think to venture in. He floats in a forgettable fashion, taking up space and never quite fitting in. His mother thought that a school that requires you to take an after school activity would be a wonderful way for Yuudai to make friends. But all Yuudai got was an art club where he manages to skulk awkwardly and never speak to anyone.

Yeah, that’s right. Art club.

Yuudai doesn’t exactly fit the mold of a creative person, but it was one of the only clubs that didn’t involve sports, performing, or tournaments. It was small, with six or so other people who took the time to draw and mess around. They don’t bother him and Yuudai doesn’t bother them. They all seemed well acquainted as it is and he was just an intruder amongst the midst. 

Well, there was another person who stuck to himself and took the club seriously.

He was a boy; Quiet, with hair long enough to pull back in a ponytail and a jaw so clean and strong it made Yuudai want to look away if he looked for too long. His voice hasn’t quite dropped properly, voice still cracking around the edges every time he spoke. And his hands looked strong as they held a pencil to draw careful lines into his sketchbook.

Oh, Yuudai liked to look. 

Kouji, he introduced himself as, and Yuudai had to stop himself from whispering it under his breath. To memorize the way it felt in his mouth. He may not have any friends, but when Kouji looks up and says “hello” when he walks in the room, Yuudai can pretend. 

It’s pathetic.

They’ve entered into this sort of dance, unless Yuudai is just insane and he’s been creating a story in his head, but hear him out. 

A lot of the art members spend lunch together, and though Yuudai hangs by the end of the table, never quite there, Kouji always sits across from him. They don’t partake in the main conversation, but they’re still there, listening. And one day Yuudai glances up and catches the other’s boys eyes already staring at him. Kouji looked away quickly, seemingly guilty and Yuudai felt stunned in those few seconds.

They play at that game. Glancing and looking, shyly looking away, never talking about it but it persists. It makes Yuudai burn deep in his stomach and if he had a sliver of confidence, he’d ask what Kouji is looking at.

That sounds like a… Threat. Hm, maybe this is why Yuudai never says anything.

And that’s all they are.

Two boys stealing looks from across a table, wanting more but too scared to do so. And it’s the only thing Yuudai has to talk about with his mother when she asks what was good about school today. But it’s never enough to tide him over. It’s not enough for him to want to stay, and his eighteenth birthday will be approaching soon. He’s not sure if he wants to risk five more months of this mind-numbing place. 

So he talks to his mother. Hears that his father had some choice words to say about him but Yuudai doesn’t tune in to listen.

And in the end, when all the papers have been signed and a date is set, he will leave school without making a single mark or dent. One day he will be there, and the next no one will be the wiser.

He goes to school one last time, and it’s nearly exciting having this secret. But the school day goes by slowly, without a single change, and Yuudai isn’t sure why it would be different. He had no friends or teachers to tell, and it’s unceremonious and by the end of it, all he wants to do is go home and look for jobs.

He skips out at lunch, choosing to sit with the vending machines and suck down a bottle of strawberry milk. 

By the time the last period hits, Yuudai is ready to make an unseen exit.

He makes it to the double exit doors when someone calls his name.

It startles him, his shoulders immediately tensing up and he looks back, confused if they were really talking to him and— Oh. 

It’s Kouji.

“Tanaka,” he breathes, finally catching up to him and Yuudai glances around just to double-check he is actually talking to him.

"Y… yes?”

“Aren’t you—” his voice cracks, “aren’t you coming today?”

Ah. The art club, Yuudai internally hisses.

“Oh— I don’t— I was just gonna go home,” he confesses and hates the way his chest tightens at the way Kouji’s expression falls a fraction. Though his eyes are alight with something determined, being looked at that way is a whirlwind.

“Is there any chance— I mean, you don’t have to do anything, but I was hoping— If you’re alright with it— I wanted uh, I wanted to draw you,” Kaoji stumbles through his sentence ungracefully, voice falling into a murmur. “If you really have to go though...”

“Draw me?”

“Yeah, if— if you— if that’s okay.”

No one’s ever… Yuudai is at a loss for words, the heat on his face must be visible and for some reason, the urge to scream is sitting at the back of his throat. Kouji is good. He’s so good. The way his eyes are kind, if not a bit skittish, and he’s… He’s a lot. Yuudai doesn’t deserve this kind of attention but… He wants it to last. Wants to be seen as someone, it would make all the difference as he leaves this dumpster place.

It’s why he agrees to stay for the art club one last time. He crosses his arms the entire time, frowning a bit as he tries to will his blush away, trying not to notice Kouji is just as, if not redder.

“Do I just… Sit in front of you?” He asks meekly, not releasing his hold from his torso, terrified if he uncrosses his arms that somehow his feelings will leak out of him.

Kouji nods, opening his worn sketchbook and flipping through to find an empty page. Yuudai only catches glimpses of the drawings, but in that tiny amount of time, he knows Kouji holds more talent in one hand than Yuudai has in his entire body. No one else disturbs them as Yuudai leans back in a chair, feeling out of place and silly for not saying anything more.

Kouji studies him in calculated looks, sketching delicately as if it’s something precious. It’s a lot for Yuudai to handle. Sometimes their eyes meet and he’s convinced that _ something _ could come out of this.

There has to be _ something _ here or Yuudai really is grasping for straws and is looking at everything through rose-tinted glasses.

Let’s say there is… A possible outcome for more though. What would be the point? The thought of clinging onto a single hope in this dirt town didn’t sound very appealing. Even less so was the idea of letting a person into his heart at the last second when Yuudai is compromised by problems bigger than school and relationships.

So it comes to a close.

“Do you wanna see?” Kouji asks and Yuudai shakes his head, surprising both of them.

“I’ll believe it’s good,” he says before taking his things to leave. He allows himself a second of guilt for not sticking around to help clean up but... It wouldn’t make much of a difference now, would it?

“Bye,” he tells Kouji, and to everyone else before taking his leave, legs rushing as to not stay a while longer.

“Wait!” 

“What?”

They’re outside in the courtyard, surrounded by odd colored buildings and the sun slowly starting to set overhead. When Yuudai turns, Kouji is marching right up to him, and though his step is hesitant, it’s as if he moves without thinking. 

And then Yuudai’s having his first kiss with a boy.

A mysterious boy, with long hair Yuudai wants to run his hands through and forget about all the pressures that life has forced down his throat. Though he does not kiss back, he lets it happen, lips pressing tightly before softening into a strange yet careful melding. Kouji holds him by his shoulders, leaning down and oh, Yuudai loves the way he has to crane his neck ever so slightly. It is the firework explosion, the ones all the mangas he reads describe both figuratively and literally.

It’s over too fast, and as Kouji releases Yuudai’s shoulders, reality takes its place, in a grip much meaner than the gentle hands of an artist.

Kouji is shy, clumsy, and sweet. It treacherously melts Yuudai. He looks away shouting something that sounds along the lines of “See you tomorrow!” before running off back into a place Yuudai can no longer follow.

He nearly outstretches a palm to call out to him, and his legs twitch to run forward but alas he chooses not to. 

On occasion, a certain type of happiness can be served to you on a plate and it’s up to you whether you want to pick up that fork and start eating or save it for when you’re more hungry. Timing is key, and the timing wasn’t right in this instance. So Yuudai leaves the opportunity, not wanting to chase after a dream that isn’t plausible in the path he chose.

He walks home that night with more heaviness than a seventeen year old should feel.

_ 3\. _

Yuudai met a guy.

Life certainly existed outside the bubble that was his hometown. The city once felt foreboding with all its twists and turns, but after learning to navigate through stations and finding a job with steady pay, it was easy to get used to. Well, for the most part. it was easy.

The people here weren’t one-note, as they were bursting with so much personality and color that it overwhelmed Yuudai. The fish market was a bustling place and he was quick to develop a backbone for himself, sucking up his fear of interaction and trying to wrangle in new customers every day. It was draining. He never had to force a smile for too long before, and it came as a surprise when his cheeks began to hurt.

When he’s not working, he’s home or at the twenty four hour internet cafe playing mahjong at odd hours until his eyes sting. When you don’t make an effort to talk to your coworkers after your shift ends, and you don’t know anyone else in the city, you’re alone with the restlessness of your thoughts.

It can take a toll on your sanity.

He’s not old enough to drink but at least he can skulk around bars, making himself scarce so no one notices he’s not ordering anything. 

That’s where it happens.

This guy; A guy who buys him drinks with a fake I.D. and a grin that’s seedy and attractive at the same time. He, who manages to live in the cracks and corners of Yuudai’s head. From his short curly hair to the scruff on his chin, and just how large his hands are, it all makes Yuudai feel so weak. He’s an inch shorter than him, and though Yuudai likes taller guys, he could learn to make an exception.

The drinks were a plus. This guy introduced himself immediately, Arata, was his name. Just when Arata was introduced, he swung his arm around Yuudai’s shoulders as if it was always meant to be there. It set Yuudai on edge the first time he did it.

Yuudai complained about it, but not with much bite. It made Arata laugh, though he never moved away. He was a very hands-on, he got comfortable effortlessly, and Yuudai knew if he wanted to see this guy again, it was something he’d need to get used to. When years past, Yuudai will realize, he never truly did. At the moment, however, he could trick himself into thinking it was everything he ever wanted. 

Arata dominated conversations. Yuudai added in small snarky quips that Arata really took a kick out of. They meet regularly in the corners of seedy bars, so the first time he makes Yuudai laugh so hard he nearly topples over is the day Arata invites him to his apartment.

Yuudai isn’t stupid.

They talked, though nothing about it felt particularly friendly or platonic. It always felt loaded with implication, a sort of discreteness that comes with holding eye contact for too long that the message makes itself known. Yuudai also saw Arata looking up and down, so slowly like he wanted Yuudai to know, and to be fair, he also did his fair share of looking. 

It wasn’t the way Sora looked at him; like she was seeing him for the first time when she put those clips in his hair. Nor the way Kouji looked at him in only spared innocent glances. Arata looked with intention. It lit a fire in his stomach.

Yuudai wasn’t ready for more though, and Arata promised they’d simply watch a movie together. It was safe enough.

Arata’s apartment wasn’t quite what he’d pictured. It was nice, with comfortable furniture, if not a little messy. There was a slight issue with leaving beer cans on surfaces and a few garments of clothes lazily sprawled on several surfaces. Well, Yuudai can’t say he doesn’t understand the laziness of not putting your jacket on its hook and choosing to let it fall to the floor instead.

Either way, it’s not a big deal. Especially not when Yuudai is sinking into the plush cushions, still nursing his first can of beer as Arata is rattling on and on about the movie he’s put on.

It’s action, not his favorite genre, and the movie is lackluster, to say the least.

Yuudai snorts at the lame cuts and rolling his eyes at the obscene amount of explosions. He gets nudged at, Arata’s quirky smile telling him not to knock it till he tries it. He doesn’t answer, trying to indulge him further with his terrible taste and having his focus leave him.

The arm that’s around his shoulders pulls him a fraction closer with every passing minute. Yuudai isn't exactly drunk, but he’s past the line of sober and he doesn’t hate how warm it makes him so he’ll lean into it. He’s hyper-aware of the way Arata rubs his fingers in his right shoulder, circling and pressing hard, like he’s trying to mark him. His thoughts come to a conclusion and tells him that the sensation is less than pleasant.

That’s when his heart starts racing, anxiety peeking out of nowhere. 

The need for someone to make a move takes to the forefront of his mind. What if he does and it escalates. He really doesn’t want it to escalate. On another note, he doesn’t want to be here anymore. How much longer is this movie? Oh, God.

For a moment he feels like his soul is slipping out of him, head floaty and otherworldly before the credits start to roll and he has to tighten his grip on his beer because the can was seconds away from slipping from his fingertips. 

He coughs, “thank you…” he says slowly and moves away from Arata, “I have to go home I have… Work in the morning.” A white lie.

Arata makes a disappointed noise, his arms open on the couch rest and legs comfortably spread while Yuudai can’t help but look towards the door in a “what can you do?” fashion.

“Oh come on, it’s like, one in the morning. You could stay the night,” he suggests but Yuudai’s already shaking his head.

“I live closer to the market, it’s gonna be a pain in the ass,” he says, getting up from the couch and Arata grabs his wrist.

“It’ll be a lot easier if you stay,” he insists and Yuudai is staring at the way his wrist looks skinny and breakable under Arata’s hand.

“I should… I need to go,” he tries again. His uneasiness must be pouring out in waves because he’s released soon after.

Arata hums, low and long, before he nods, “alright. But be careful out there alright?” He gets up and all the discomfort falls out of Yuudai. Of course he wasn’t going to make him stay, he was just worried, Jesus.

“I’m not gonna die,” Yuudai mumbles and Arata chuckles, a sound that makes all the fuzzy feelings come back at full force.

He walks him to his door, which is literally less than ten feet so is it unnecessary, absolutely, does it make Yuudai feel a little special? … Yeah...

“Y’know, you’re gonna have to make it up to me eventually,” Arata says, leaning back against his door before Yuudai can make his leave down the hallway, “sleep over next time. Or, hey, if it’s too much of a hassle, I can just sleep over at your place.”

He says it so matter of factly like he’s already decided. 

It burns Yuudai from the inside out with what he’s sure is _ need _. Senseless happiness floods his veins, though dampened with apprehension. He’s never been the target of anyone’s affections. It’s… Nice to be wanted. It’s nice to be looked at. But it’s terrified to be seen.

“Next time,” he promises and Arata looks happy enough.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he says, voice dropping to a soft tenor.

Yuudai’s going to answer, but he never gets the chance to. His back harshly meets the surface of a cool and peeling wall, his head thuds against it but he doesn’t have any time to dwell on the pain before his lips are captured. His eyes squeeze shut, going back and forth from the low throb in his head and the way Arata kisses like a wildfire, taking Yuudai and holding his cheeks in his hands. 

It is bruising the way he mashes their mouths and melds them together, it’s borderline painful the way he bites his lower lip and takes it in his hot mouth. He doesn’t kiss back as much as he just clutches onto Arata’s arms for dear life because he’s sure his knees are going to buckle and he’ll drag them both down.

He’s never been kissed like this before.

Arata releases him, with a tongue nearly slipping inside him but Yuudai refusing to give him entrance. He grins, dopey and huge, and he tells Yuudai to call him, before going back to his apartment, leaving Yuudai with the aftermath.

He’s desperately trying to catch his breath, eyes wide and glassy as he covers his mouth, feeling the swell and wetness caused by another man. Arata left him aching all over, and he could still feel it as he shakily walks home, from his lips and between his legs. His hands are clammy with perspiration and he’s unsure how to feel.

Is he giddy?

Is he scared?

He doesn’t know.

But as he walks up to his own apartment, his mouth never feeling the same, he thinks he might be smiling. He thinks he’s… Excited. 

This guy likes him.

And Yuudai’s pretty sure he likes him too.

_4._

At this stage of Yuudai’s life, he’s been kissed more than he can count.

He is laid on his side, cheek plastered on old bedsheets, body draped with a heavy comforter that helps him embed his shape into his worn-down mattress. His eyes are weighed down by heavy lids and the bags that he can physically feel etched in his skin. The linen is sure to leave more red marks on his face. He’s been laying like this for a while, with legs pulled up and arm dangling at the side of his bed.

He keeps sleeping, waking up, sleeping, waking up, sleeping.

Going through the motions of living while never truly living in it anymore. The side of his face keeps throbbing with ghost pains and the scent of blood keeps assaulting his nostrils at involuntary moments. He can still taste the iron and regret.

Yuudai thought he had it. 

His hands only know of a certain man’s skin, his body aches for one man, his heart is taken by a man. The blanket that holds him so delicately is the closest thing he’ll have to arms embracing him from behind.

He keeps rubbing his mouth, trying to relearn its shape. The same man kissed him over and over again, so much so that he’s convinced his lips will never fit properly against another's. It’s impossible to forget the way Arata kissed if you could even call them that. They were more like open-mouthed battles. They did a good impression of trying to eat each other alive. Sometimes they were bites, that left Yuudai feeling raw and tingly.

Arata kissed like he was trying to take as much as he could. It was akin to the way he fought; with something to prove. The worst thing was that Yuudai could pick a fight. Oh, he would fight tooth and nail to match the intensity of an unhinged man. Somehow Arata always managed to pin him down. And though Yuudai still complained and growled and spat, he couldn’t help but feel like he’s lost in the end.

Even now, he unravels Yuudai without even having to be in the same room.

He keeps winning.

Yuudai wants to say he is made up entirely of the rage Arata made him feel. But in the middle of the day, with nothing to regain his sanity, he slips into a depression so fierce. He is ashamed of how he’s cried, unnaturally as if it were being punched out him.

His mouth feels claimed. And the scar feels too much like he’s been branded.

In the distance, he hears his door open. He panics for a split second, thinking, this is it. Arata has broken in, he’s taking matters in his own hands, he’s going to take another bottle and smash his head open next, he’s going to do it, he’s going to do it, he’s going to do it— And that’s when he remembers, oh yeah, Shigeru has a key.

Shigeru visits.

He often does. Lately, Yuudai forgets to feed Hime. Genuinely forgets as time blurs together and he’s left with his own thoughts that the persistent cat meowing falls deaf to his ears. 

He could hear her happy meowing now, probably as she caresses her fluffy head against Shigeru’s legs, and Shigeru will pet her and feed her canned wet food because he’s a man with good taste and treats his animals well. Yuudai hears him approach his bedroom and he knows just when Shigeru sees Yuudai because he lets out a deep and long sigh.

“Yuudai,” he starts, as if he’s trying to find the words halfway through, “have ya showered t’day?”

Good, he doesn’t waste his breath on the usual “are you okay?”

“Mmgh,” Yuudai answers.

“S’not an answer.”

He takes longer to think about his question. He… Did shower today. Well, his hair is still damp against the sheets, “Yes.”’

“Mm, for how long?” He asks and Yuudai rattles his brain trying to remember.

He went in around two in the afternoon… It’s somewhere around five now. 

“A while,” he replies. 

“Didja eat today?” He sits at the foot of Yuudai’s bed, and he glances over to see that Shigeru is carrying takeout bags.

He reluctantly sits up, the smell of food enticing and his stomach growling desperately. He’s hungry. He’s so hungry. Yuudai doesn’t make a move out of bed though, he really doesn’t want to leave. And he’s glad he doesn’t even have to say anything because Shigeru quietly understands and begins to open up the containers right where they sit.

Yuudai just shovels the teriyaki chicken and rice in his mouth as if it’s his first meal of the— Oh wait… It is his first meal of the day. He grumbles angrily when Shigeru tells him to slow down and is relieved to see he bought beer as well. Goddamn Shigeru, always so fucking generous. Shigeru also does most of the talking, and even that is sparse and few, with just a few updates on the market and sushi shop. 

He chews and chews through the food but it doesn’t taste like much. It keeps turning into dust and he swallows through it. His mouth feels off.

His eyes are affixed on his takeout container, wondering why nothing feels right. He must have slowed down considerably because Shigeru asks what’s wrong which has him snapping up to look at him. Has he made it too obvious?

“Ya just started getting all fuzzy,” he explains.

Ah.

Yuudai doesn’t know whether to be honest or not. He juggles the thought in his head and oh, he’s taking too much time to answer again.

“My… mouth feels weird,” is what he settles with.

“Oh,” Shigeru says, “Didja bite the inside of ya cheek or somethin’?”

Yuudai shrugs.

“... Do you want me to check?” 

“Wh— what?” Yuudai snaps, “Why the fuck would you do that?!”

“I dunno, to check for canker sores or somethin’?” Shigeru shrugs like it’s no big deal and Yuudai just furrows his brow, grumbling angrily, calling him a weirdo under his breath which Shigeru just laughs along with.

They finish the rest of the food in silence, Yuudai pushes his plate away when he’s done and falls backward to his natural habitat. Shigeru cleans up the containers, putting them aside when Yuudai says it again.

“My mouth hurts.”

It hangs in the air with uncertainty. It pisses Yuudai off so much with how much it makes him _feel_ like he’s not the one piloting his own fucking body. “It doesn’t feel like my own,” he snarls.

“How so?” 

More silence.

Yuudai grabs for his beer, drinking the rest of it as fast as possible and then chokes on it because he’s laying down and nothing goes down properly when he’s laying down. Beer goes sliding down the side of chin and Yuudai just tosses the can down when he’s done. He laughs, suddenly furious.

“How is it— how is it not my own? Because it’s not—! Because he took it!”

“Took your mouth?”

“I don’t know!” He shrieks, sitting back up. He wants to scream, he’s so angry. “I don’t know… Ugh!” He goes to scratch at his cheeks but Shigeru stops him before he can go to mutilate his face further. He holds his hands in place, not tightly, but with care. It makes his breath stutter.

“It’s yours,” Shigeru says and he’s… He’s so sure. He’s more sure than Yuudai is.

Yuudai doesn’t believe him. 

“It’s not,” he growls, not wanting to meet his eyes, instead fixated on their hands touching. He almost jumps when Shigeru caresses them.

“It’s your own,” he says it like its true and Yuudai’s half convinced. Shigeru isn’t garbage, he doesn’t lie because why does he have to? 

Yuudai manages to look up, their eyes meeting and it knocks the wind out of him with how certain his gaze is.

“It’s your own,” he repeats.

He doesn’t know who moves first.

It’s tentative, slow-moving but… With so much conviction, as if this was always meant to happen. Their lips meet in a slow but firm way, taking a few seconds to adjust an angle to really meet with one another. 

Yuudai’s heart nearly escapes through his mouth, because it’s… Been a while since he’s been kissed so sweetly. Like someone’s truly taking their time with him. Caressing his face because they want to touch him, and nipping softly instead of brutally biting and destroying. It’s easy for Yuudai to melt, it’s easy to return.

That is until Shigeru decides to slide his tongue against the seam of his lips, pushing forward like he wants Yuudai to lay back. Like he’s going to take Yuudai. It makes him freeze and he pulls away, terrified. 

“Don’t do that!” he says quickly, hands trembling.

“Don’t push me down,” he elaborates, swallowing thickly. And Shigeru… Ever so fucking understanding Shigeru. He never complains. He doesn’t call Yuudai demanding. No, because Shigeru lays back. Lays back for Yuudai. 

It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand, and fire roar in his stomach, he's clambering and falling into Shigeru’s lap and connecting their lips again. He slides his fingers into Shigeru’s hair, taking fistfuls of it to grab as he explores him, hurriedly and frantic trying to memorize the way he tastes and feels against his tongue. 

He wants to replace all that Arata has left.

It hurts whenever Shigeru touches him, and Yuudai, despite his aversion to touch, can grant this. He wants Arata’s touch to disappear. He wants to be in his own body. He’ll take the way Shigeru lifts his shirt to slide his palms up and down his sides, and Yuudai will kiss him fiercely, moaning shamelessly and wanting more. 

Yuudai hasn’t felt like he’s been in his own body in a while.

He’s kissed the same person for five years and now he doesn’t have to anymore.

When he grounds down on Shigeru it is on Yuudai’s own accord. When he bites down on Shigeru’s tongue and makes him groan, it’s Yuudai’s choice. Yuudai gets to set the score. And he takes power in the way Shigeru’s hands land on his hips, never digging into him like he wants to mark him.

It still doesn’t feel quite right.

It never feels quite right.

Yuudai gave himself to a person who left teeth marks all over his skin. And even when they heal over, Yuudai swears the indentations never went away. Yuudai can still feel an emptiness in him. In the back of his head, he knows it’s wrong to use Shigeru as a form of escapism. But when his body is temporarily filled, Yuudai can throw his head back and pretend.

Pretend that the control was always in his hands.

_ 5\. _

Jiro “are you _ Shitting _ me” Sakana either has no idea of the art of going into detail or he’s a shit storyteller. Yuudai’s betting on the latter.

Yuudai might be a grown-ass man now, but he’s definitely still well into his twenties where he has to worry about shit like “oh fuck, who did I make out with while blackout drinking?” Considering he’s only ever kissed four people in his life, it’s quite tragic that he can’t remember the fifth time. Though the tragedy comes into play because this is one he’d actually like to _ remember _rather than being _ told _ about by Jiro Fucking Sakana.

And he’s tried to rack his brain for answers. Tries to picture a handsome, smiling, successful businessman with legs for days on that Saturday night, but the closest thing Yuudai digs up is a blurry memory of a giraffe coming down to beat the shit out of Taro. 

Christ.

It took a lot of mustering up to ask Jiro too. And even then, Jiro needed time to really think about it. Though nowhere near as drunk as Yuudai, his memory still came to him in slow waves, hurting his brain if he thought too hard. That or he was just stupid.

At first, Yuudai didn’t want to know the painful details but curiosity got the best of him. He got it out of Jiro.

He asked “are you sure? Yuudai we don’t have to do this?” about a hundred times before Yuudai had to hiss at him to just deliver the rendition of his pathetic life.

It goes something like this.

Somewhere after the whole giraffe thing, making it all the way to the Sakana residence, and proceeding make a huge ass of himself by flinging his goddamn jacket off the balcony, Yuudai’s body was possessed by the Gods of dumb confidence and pure stupidity. 

Taisei, being the touchy-feely guy he already was, tried to “rescue” Yuudai by wrapping his long noodle arms around his naked torso, laughing his goofy hysterical laugh and telling Yuudai to not fling himself off the balcony next. And drunk Yuudai became okay with touch, and he must have loved the touch of a man at that moment.

A man so impossibly large, kind, and sweet. As drunk Yuudai would have interpreted it, he was the sweetest most cutest most adorablest boy he’s ever seen in his life. His arms would swing around Taisei’s, where they’d stumbled awkwardly trying to return to the interior of the house and Yuudai would look at him and think.

Yes.

One hundred percent yes, yes, yes.

And as present Yuudai groaned in agony, stuffing his face into his hands hearing what came next, past drunk Yuudai thought he was making a brilliant decision in sloppily pulling Taisei’s hair back and giving him a big, stupid kiss. All nuzzly, smiley, and hard. Nearly making the two of them fall on both of their asses.

But at least that’s where it ended.

One huge, kiss before drunk Yuudai would pass out backwards, Jiro laughing at him the entire time.

Or no. Not laughing at him, but rather just giggly, drunk and stupid.

Ugh.

What a waste.

_ +1 _

Here’s the thing about Taisei.

If you were to tell a jaded twenty four year old Yuudai that a man was capable of being kind without wanting something of you, he would told you to get the hell away from him. In his head, he would have thought in scorn that such a man couldn’t exist. No way a man was selfless, kind, silly, and sweet without having some ulterior motive. Not even himself, he was just this fucked up aftermath with the pieces all glued together.

There’s no way a man would be satisfied without taking something from you. Because that’s what relationships were. Taking things from each other, holding that information as your own, and using it to your advantage. You give and you take. And you take. And you take.

And when it’s all over? All that’s left of you are stolen bits and the cold sensation of feeling used.

But Yuudai wasn’t an expert.

He doesn’t come close.

When you’re young, impressionable, and most of all dumb, your first relationship could be the beginning of the end. He was told things, by a man who’s dated before so obviously, he had to know more. He knew how things worked and how this was going to work. Yuudai learned rules, like how he needed to put out by the third date. That the most important thing about a stable relationship is that couples needed to fight. That when Arata asked him to fuck off he should do so as such.

And it’s a work in progress trying to unlearn all of that pile of horseshit.

Because good men exist.

Because Taisei exists.

Because him and Taisei don’t tolerate each other’s presence because they adore spending time together. They can argue for hours without it ever being a fight. Yuudai still has troubles with using words when he needs to be alone, but he won’t walk away and expect Taisei to know what’s going on inside his head. They don’t have to be strangers. They can complain freely and tell each other things they would never tell anyone else without it being used as ammunition later.

Taisei is sweet. He doesn’t stop being sweet, not even for a moment, not even when Yuudai thinks they might be slipping into fight territory but they just take a breath, sit down, and talk about it. Communication. That’s the most important part of a relationship.

And Taisei doesn’t kiss Yuudai.

It stirred up some old insecurity in Yuudai at first but as he put things in perspective… It made him so relieved he could have wept. Relieved that Taisei wouldn’t cut him off in the middle of a sentence to take. And when Yuudai chooses to kiss him, and oh god, _ Yuudai _has to be the one to kiss him, it’s gonna be because he wanted it. It’s not an act of taking back his body, it’s Yuudai choosing happiness.

And making his _ boyfriend _happy.

Because they share. They do not take.

So this is the scene.

It’s another Saturday night in the Sakana residence, with the two brothers making themselves scarce as Taisei and Yuudai take up the space of the living room, snuggling and burrowing themselves with several blankets scattered on their plush couch with the new flat-screen television mounted on the wall playing a season seven episode of Hypraman. Episode four to be precise.

Taisei is trying his darndest not to speak through the cinematography and acting, but he just _ has _ to point out his favorite shots, exclaiming in little bursts of joy, and copying Hypraman’s lines of dialogue, as they are memorized by heart. So on and so forth.

Yuudai wishes he had something of value to say, to chime in with Taisei and fill the air with their voices but… His eyes are locked on Taisei, and it’s a soft sight, and his lips feel wobbly as they pull into a longing smile.

It’s soppy.

It makes his chest ache, and his palms slick, but not in a terrifying way. Well, Yuudai is always kind of scared. But it’s not intense, it doesn’t make his stomach hurt, it just makes his heart want to leap out of his chest and skin feel like fuzz. Whenever he blushes, his stomach does too, and he has to press his thighs together to contain all the mush in his heart, lest it starts leaking out of him.

Taisei is talking and talking and Yuudai watches the way his lips move and that’s when it hits him. He can’t imagine staying apart.

“Yuudai?” Taisei asks because Yuudai was in the process of moving and he halts a bit, now embarrassed as he realizes what he was about to do.

“You just— you were talking...” He chokes and Taisei looks a bit self-conscious, no!!

“Oh was I talking too much—”

“No!” He quickly butts in, “No you just— you looked happy.”

“Oh, yeah?” Taisei grins, all teeth and warmth in his eyes, “so did you.”

Oh, isn’t that _ something _. 

Yuudai fiddles with his fingers, a habit he’s never broken out of, and he thinks of a way to approach this. 

“C… Can I—” Yuudai trails off, grumbling unintelligible words under his breath.

“Huh? What was that?” Taisei leans in and Yuudai nearly yelps, leaning back a bit.

“Um I— UGH,” he chokes on his tongue, “this is... So fucking stupid, you’re— ACK—”

Now Taisei looks worried. Probably thinking that his boyfriend is losing the last remnants of his right-mindedness and _ holy shit oh god they’re boyfriends and he can’t even act normal and kiss?? Kiss! _

“Is something wrong?”

“NO!” Yuudai shouts “I just— do you— can I k— k— AH!” He shrieks, hands going to his face and now Taisei is holding out his hands.

“Hey! Hey, hey, it’s alright! Did I do something?” Taisei asks, so sweetly but just as nervous and they’re both absolute disasters.

“No, you didn’t do anything I’m just!” Yuudai makes a sound like one of Hime’s broken squeaky toys, he begins again “Can I… K…”

“Keh?”

Yuudai makes himself small, “I want… Can I… kiss you?” he says the last part super fast and wants to immediately take those words and stuff them back in his mouth so he could chew them up and swallow. When he peaks through his fingers, Taisei’s eyes are wide and he’s turning progressively redder.

“Kiss?!” Taisei shouts.

“Ahh! Don’t say it! Don’t say it out loud!

“Did you say that?! Did I mishear you?!

“NO! Yes! No! Shut up!” Yuudai shrills, “Wait don’t shut up, I’m not telling you to shut up, I’m telling myself to shut up! Shut up!” 

They’re both sputtering, sweaty messes and screaming back and forth.

That is until Hime lets out the loudest, grouchiest meow he’s _ ever _ heard. She looks at them through bleary eyes, they must have woken her up with their yelling. And Taisei snorts, and so does Yuudai, as they both break down in hysterical laughter.

Hime meows unhappily, prancing her fluffy self to another room. 

“Jesus Christ,” Yuudai says, chest heaving as he comes down his giggle fit, shoulders still shaking from little bursts of energy.

“YES!” Taisei screams in his _ ear _ and it startles Yuudai right out of his skin.

“Yes?! Yes, what!!” He shouts.

“K—Kiss! Kissing!! Yes, I would— I would like that a lot! More than a lot, so, so much,” Taisei says, sounding a bit like a frantic broken record.

Yuudai burns, “you can’t just say that!”

“But you did!!”

“No, I d— Ahh! I did! I did do that!” They have another fit, complete with wheezes and coughing breaths until they’re exhausted and there’s nothing left but teary eyes and sore cheeks.

“Do you…” Taisei starts, “do you want me to?”

“No! I can do it, I can,” Yuudai says, determined, but so horribly embarrassed. But the positive is that he knows Taisei is also feeling a healthy amount of humiliated. “Oh god,” he squeaks as tries to get himself to do it.

“It’s okay! You don’t have to—”

And Yuudai’s kissing Taisei.

It’s tight-lipped and nervous and it’s over in a second.

Yuudai looks away, knowing the kiss was nothing and everything all at once but… Taisei is quiet.

“There I did it first,” Yuudai mumbles, burning.

Then Taisei brings a hand to Yuudai’s face, and for a second Yuudai thinks he’s going to crush him, but no… Taisei would never. He is careful and gentle with the way he kisses Yuudai, but with anxiety still trembling between them. Both fearful they might mess this up. It is longer than the first but not going back the five-second mark.

“Well I did it second,” Taisei says softly, and the delight is thick in his voice. It gives Yuudai the sudden urge to cry but instead, he moves in, kissing Taisei again. More like peck, he’s still too shy to do it for longer.

“Third,” he grumbles.

Taisei’s smile is big, goofy, and weepy. He kisses Yuudai’s cheek, “fourth.”

“That’s not even…” Yuudai trails off, smiling uncontrollably. It makes his face feel all wobbly so he hides it in Taisei’s neck.

“Nooo,” Taisei whines, “you’re supposed to do a fifth!”

“Mmgh, you say fifth,” Yuudai says, muffled.

“But it was your turn!”

Yuudai pulls his face away only to the underside of Taisei’s chin before burrowing himself away again, “there!”

“Nooo! Not there!” he groans and Yuudai hits him lightly.

“What! You did that to me!” They break off in laughter, holding each other close. 

Yuudai’s kissed five people in his life.

On a later date, when his thoughts are wandering and feeling nostalgic, he’ll try to find Sora on Instagram. To his surprise, it doesn’t take long because some of her friends are already following Hime’s Instagram page so Sora comes up easily as a suggested user. 

She’s twenty five and she looks nothing like she did in high school. Her ears are littered with sharp piercings and gauges, and her bangs are cut straight across her forehead, a short bowl cut with the rest of it shaved off. Her page is public, and he’ll only make it three posts down before seeing a picture of her and a girl, the caption tells a story of their two year anniversary and it all makes so much sense. Yuudai is happy for her. He wants to send her a message but chooses not to, maybe later. Though he does follow her and leaves it at that. 

Kouji is harder to find on any social media, but one search of his full name has results flooding in. He’s on the first page of Google, somewhere in the middle and it’s a website that talks of an art exhibit in Minato City, a quieter area surrounded by trendy little cafes and parks. Through there he finds an Instagram, and he’s grown into a great man. Yuudai knows not to bother him.

Arata will always be a lurking problem. Flooding in the darkest part of his days, making him doubt his every move and always afraid if he turns a corner, he will be right there, staring back at him. Sometimes Yuudai wants nothing more than to be spooned by Taisei as he holds him through a panic. Other times, Yuudai can’t stand to be in the same bed as Taisei. But they work through it.

It’s not as awkward with Shigeru anymore. Thank God. Though Yuudai’s unsure if they’ll ever get back to that casual friendship they had.

Then there's Taisei “the cutest most cute adorable guy ever” Tachibana.

Yuudai lets out another breathless laugh as Taisei kisses up his neck until their lips find each other again. He wraps his arms around his neck and lets himself be adored. He wants to kiss. And kiss, and kiss, and kiss and never lose count again.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter.com/yamautistic  
pinkyams.tumblr.com


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